Her Story
by The Cursed And The Gifted
Summary: Willow Rosenberg has has a long and hard life, but something changed when Tara Maclay came into her life. AU No hellmouth or Supernatual stuff


What can I tell you about Willow Rosenberg? There's not a lot to tell, at least nothing you would want to hear. But there's this one thing that you may be interested in. That blond who walked into her life and gave her a purpose. I'm Willow, but this is a story about Tara Maclay, the person who gave me hope again. In order for you to get the full story though, I have to tell you all the boring details of my life.

I was that geek in school, you know the one. I was so lame, and no one would let me forget it. I was the whole deal, nerdy clothes, almost no friends, hell I even taught a computer class without pay for a whole semester when the teacher suddenly disappeared.

People spent almost every second they had tormenting me or using me. When they weren't calling me the vast amount of oh so pleasant names they had for me, they were dropping off their homework and begging me to do it. I always would too, no questions asked I would just take the work and sit at home doing it. I can't explain why I did it, maybe I hoped they would stop picking on me or maybe even like me. Though that never happened and deep down I knew it never would, but I had to hope, it was all I had.

My parents weren't much help either. They were never home, always traveling to an endless amount of places, mailing me money every once in a while. My mom was and probably still is an "expert" in child behavior. While my dad focuses on the development of the brain and the situations in which it is impaired. I knew they loved me, or at least what they saw about me, but they were never around to really notice me. And, how much can you really love someone you can't even bring yourself to spend more than five minutes with? But you don't want to hear about my parents, I'm sorry.

All I had going for me was Xander Harris, he was my best and really only friend for the longest time. There had been Buffy, but she was nothing more than a passing leaf in my life. I was trouble for Xander, being my friend only made him the victim of ridicule. All I could give him was a place to go when his parents were too drunk for him to ignore them. That and I could help him with his homework, old reliable me and my brain. He left the first chance he got. A day after we graduated high school he was gone, off on a road trip to find himself. He called, but I never answered, he's better off now.

I could have gone too any school I wanted. I'm what people call a genius I guess. But I was on a destructive path. One that made me leave the only home I had ever known, not that I had anything keeping me there. I packed up my laptop and drove out of Sunny dale California for what I hoped to be forever. I had a loaded bank account with more than enough money to pay for a simple life for the next twenty years even if I didn't find a job. I barely dented it when I bought a decent apartment in the less gummy area of LA.

I changed myself completely, my clothes, my hair, and attitude. I don't know what happened, but I wasn't the meek polite geek from California. No, I made people shrink under a simple glare, ran credit card frauds and worked as an anonymous code writer and software developer. I could even talk a girl to my apartment like it was my night job, one good thing I learned from watching Buffy.

But that's not how I met her. I met Tara Maclay the night I finally learned that everybody has demons.

There was the running, you hear it every once in a while here in an LA apartment building but this was different. It was more than that, or it felt like it was. "Shit" a voice called, followed by the hard banging of what I guessed to be fists on the hard wood of a door. I was tired, falling from a major caffeine high and sporting a headache that could impair a child. It's my guess that's why I stood up and walked to that door, just to stop the noise but sometimes I wonder.

I had seen people distressed before and simply couldn't bring myself to care, but the blue eyes belonging to the figure just three doors down bore a sadness that I had never witnessed. She was a tall gorgeous blond, and when I saw gorgeous I mean absolutely beautiful, even in the state she was in. There were tear tracks running down her pale face, mud all over her jeans, possibly from running through the streets I guessed from the way she was panting. She was trying to hide behind a hoodie, but it wasn't hard to see her features. When her voice left her it came in a stuttered mess of her soft but, distressed tone "I-I c-c-can't fi-find my k-key".

Maybe I loved her the moment I saw her, maybe that's what brought back my humanity, what made me want to help her. I don't even remember thinking about it, I just remember saying "You can hide in my apartment" without even knowing what or who exactly she was hiding from. I invited this woman into my home without the slightest of wrong intentions or personal gain. But I certainly don't regret it.

She looked like she may protest, but the hesitation disappeared as soon as she heard the sound of two sets of heavy steps from below. She ran straight to me and I closed the door immediately after her, locking it.

Soon they flew passed my door. Not caring to slow at all, they were on the hunt after all.

When I turned away from the door I found the woman staring at me, a flood of emotions covering her face, ones that I was yet to be able to place. "t-tha-thank y-you" she forced out, relief evident to me even with my reservations of basic people.

"No worries, what else are neighbors for other than inviting them into their incredibly messy homes at ungodly hours of the night when they are locked out." That was different, I had barley said that much to anyone since coming to LA a year ago.

The woman let out a cute half smile and stated to wipe away the tears from her face. What shocked me, was when she spoke, she didn't stutter at all "And here I thought we were supposed to ignore each other and sneak cats into the building". She joked.

"Well that weird guy upstairs does have a weasel, well I think that's what it is, I only saw it the once, when he was casing it and calling 'Edmund' after it, who would name a weasel Edmund anyway? It's so boring and so not weaselly at all." That's the first time I'd babbled in more than two years.

"Well it could be an ironic play off the character from the Narnia books, because Edmund was a weasel." She challenged me casually. As if we had talked to each other a hundred times before.

"I never thought of that, that's a good point." I stared at her for a few moments, and she just looked back at me, sizing me up. I stuck out my hand, "Willow Rosenberg, heroic neighbor".

She took my hand without hesitation and my skin burned at the slight touch. "Tara Maclay, distressed neighbor" the sideways smirk reappeared on her face and I could have sworn my heart flouted at the site.

"So if you want I could make up the couch or we could call the landlord, but he's kind of an-"

"Ass?" she finished my sentence for me before I got the chance. "If you don't mind that couch sounds great right about now?" Her eyebrows lifted in a questioning glance.

"Sure, if you don't mind the mess"

"I think I can survive, it's a lot better than the hall!" She said as I walked past her into the living room that almost every flat surface was covered in empty coffee cups and computer parts. I grabbed a runaway pillow and blanket setting them up on the couch.

"Well I really don't think the hall is much of an option for you" I said referring to the guys who I guessed were still searching the building for her. She was silent and I looked over my shoulder to make sure I hadn't offended her. She was leaning against the door frame studying me, almost waiting for something. I picked up my laptop and started towards my bedroom, "well night!"

Just as I walked past her she reached out and lightly touched my arm, capturing my whole attention as I tuned my eyes to hers. "You're not even going to ask?"

"I trust you" I simply stated as if it was the most natural feeling to trust a stranger.

"But you don't know me, I could be someone danger-"

"I trust you" it was odd, but I knew I did, trust her I mean. I think it was her eyes, maybe they are the reason I was blind to the basic understanding of 'stranger danger'.

"Thank you Willow" My name on her lips, was the greatest sound I had ever heard.

That night, I slept without nightmares for the first time in forever. It was a start, the start of my story of Tara Maclay and the amazing things she would do.


End file.
